


Set Fire to The Rain

by isleofdreams



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry Kissing, Fights, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Rain, Rough Kissing, no beta we die like me, spicy shit yo, toxic relationship kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isleofdreams/pseuds/isleofdreams
Summary: They're crashing and burning, but who's to say George doesn't like it this way?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 300





	Set Fire to The Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alienu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/gifts).



> mandatory: this is merely their personas. it does not represent them irl in any way at all. i respect the both of them, so if one of them isn't comfortable with such fics being written about them, it will be taken down immediately.
> 
> anyway, this is for Ali, who keeps screaming about the song 'set fire to the rain' by adele so fucking much that i decided to write a oneshot for her.
> 
> first time writing this :spicy shit: so i hope you enjoy it. its more of a practice for me so why the fuck not

Dream and George are never meant to be for each other.

They’re always fighting, always getting on each others’ nerves. Their love is chaotic: occasionally, it’d be sweet and loving, where Dream would wake up and make breakfast for George and George would mutter ‘I love you’ to Dream; yet occasionally, it’d be wild and angry, where Dream would yell at George and George would yell back and there’d be tears and broken plates involved.

Somehow, they always got together in the end.

This time, it’s angry and bitter.

“Look what the fuck you’ve done,” Dream sneers, jabbing at George’s chest as the latter backs away slightly. “You ruin shit, George. You fucking destroy  _ everything _ !”

“It’s  _ always _ me!” George screams, brown eyes burning with flames as strong as forest fires, and he feels the irresistible urge to destroy anything that’s in his way. “You never do shit wrong, do you, huh? You’re  _ always _ perfect,  _ always _ the good guy, huh? I’m  _ always  _ the bad one-”

Dream slams a fist on the kitchen counter, and George can see his veins snaking along his neck, along the spots where he loved to plant his teeth in and suck hickeys on, along the spots where he knows Dream is the most sensitive at. “That’s not what I  _ meant _ -”

“Shut the fuck up, Dream!” George’s hair is messy from his hands running through them in frustration, strands sticking up in various directions. Yet, Dream’s eyes seem to be glued on them hungrily as he remembers nights in their bedroom. “You don’t get to say anything. Fuck you!”

Growling, Dream strides forward and grabs both of George’s wrist, but the other is quick enough to dodge it. It’s almost routine, a sequence of dance that they’re familiar with, where Dream would be the hunter and George would be the hunted as the former gains power over the latter.

In a sick and twisted way, George likes it a little too much.

“Get the fuck away from me,” George snarls, pushing Dream away even though all he wants is to push his lips against the other and kiss the life out of him. He wants to slam the other into the kitchen counter, clinging onto the last shred of power and dominance that he has obtained before they get ripped away from him by Dream. He wants to run his hands through dirty blonde locks woven by God’s hands himself, wants to pull on them so hard that the other lets out a whimper.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes Dream away, and storms out of the kitchen.

“Where the fuck are you going?” There’s a dip in Dream’s voice, almost a warning to the other, but George ignores it completely, ignores how he suppresses a shiver that’s running through his spine from the low voice, ignores how his knees almost buckle and his legs almost turn into jelly at the warning, ignores how he’s completely wrapped around Dream’s finger and how he’s Dream’s little  _ puppet _ .

He ignores how he likes Dream addressing him like that, ignores how it makes him want more of Dream.

He ignores everything. “Away from you. Fuck off.”

Dream scoffs, but before he can put a word in, George is already unlocking the door to their apartment and slamming it shut behind him.

The soft pitter-patter of droplets against cobble path and chilly breeze reminds him that it’s raining outside. Groaning, George barely stops himself from slamming his head into the wall beside him. 

He can’t back off now: that’s immediately out of his list. To back off and go back to their shared apartment meant that he’d have to face Dream’s stupid fucking smirk and that prideful glint in his eyes, and even though that makes a warm feeling pool at the bottom of his stomach, makes him squirm in a good way, George doesn’t want to see it right now. To back off meant that he’d lose, and with his anger and stubbornness he’d rather face the rain that his boyfriend.

So with a small huff and determination, George leaves the apartment.

The rain immediately drenches him, the clouds’ teardrops hitting the top of his head. Huffing, he pulls his hood up, shielding himself weakly against the weather. There are hurried footsteps of people around him as they scurry to the nearest shelter, the sudden change in weather catching them off-guard, contrasting with George’s silent and calm walk in the rain.

If he’s drenched, so be it. He’d go against the weather rather than letting Dream win their petty fights.

He lets out another small puff, his breath forming in front of him before it dissipates into thin air. He can feel his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably, wet and heavy, while his hair is matted against his forehead that he can’t help but feel a little pissed off. Getting distracted by his thoughts, he accidentally steps into a puddle. 

“Fuck.” He’s such a fucking mess, physically and psychologically. Viridian eyes haunt his mind, the green and golden flakes swirling in ways that’s mesmerising, while wheezy laughs echo at the back of his head. Scarily, George can almost feel Dream’s fingertips against his arm, feel it lingering on his wrist when he’s restraint and struggling, feel it tracing up his forearm and pushing his sleeves up, exposing skin, feel it running down his sides and rest on his waist, squeezing it until it leaves George flustered, leaves George wanting  _ more _ .

George feels fingers wrap around his wrist, and when he turns around, he’s met by green eyes and an angry frown.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Dream shouts, worry seeping into his words as he holds George firmly, eyes fleeting across the latter’s features for any emotions. When all he sees is George’s guarded eyes, his frustration increases. “It’s  _ raining _ , George!”

“So?”

“ _ So, _ ” Dream continues, face red and out of breath. “I’m  _ worried _ ! Who knows what the fuck might happen to you!”

And as Dream continues to shout at him, continues to spew bullshit that goes in and out of George’s head, the latter can’t help but let his eyes flicker over Dream’s lips, as if he’s in a trance. He can’t help but lick his lips as he imagines those pair of lips on his neck, forcing out pretty noises. He can’t help but imagine what they’d do if he kisses Dream right now, when he’s receiving a lecture about safety and health and  _ why the fuck did you run in the rain? _

He’s tired of imagining, so he places a hand at the back of Dream’s neck and with a force, smashes his lips against Dream’s. 

It’s messy, and chaotic, but George loves it, loves how Dream is biting on his bottom lip harshly and is pulling on his hair, fingers tangled in wet brown locks. George loves how Dream is fumbling with the back of his shirt, one of his hands clenched into a fist as he pushes George closer until their bodies are pressed against each other fiercely. George loves how aggressive Dream is right now, handling him as if he’s nothing, and George fucking  _ loves _ it.

He can feel fingers running along his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head up and lean into the kiss deeper and  _ god, if he isn’t fucked _ . 

George has been screwed ever since his eyes landed on Dream, landed on a slim yet firm body along with a prideful grin when the latter had introduced himself to George, a glass of cheap whiskey swirling in his hand. George has been screwed ever since Dream’s breath mingled with his, face a little too close for comfort in dimly lit rooms as lips touched for the first time. George has been screwed ever since he has fallen for dream, but yet, if there was a way to rewind all these, George will still choose Dream all over again.

George is so, so fucking screwed, but he loves it. 

Dream growls as he nips on George’s bottom lip once again, leaving bruises in his wake as he pulls away, eyes furious with something dark lingering and swimming in his gaze, and George can’t help but let out a small whimper at it. “You’re  _ mine _ , got it?”

The fire from their fight burns brighter as Dream smashes his lips against George’s once again, their love a fuel as sparks fly. It’s twisted, honestly, how they’re making out in the rain when ten minutes prior they were fighting in the kitchen. It’s twisted, how their love is a rollercoaster, where neither of them have control over each other yet still have the other wrapped around their fingers. It’s twisted, how they’re still together despite warnings from friends because they love it, because they knew they were doomed from the start, that they were never meant for each other.

But when Dream tugs on George’s hair, the latter knows he has long given up on sanity and normality as he flings himself towards Dream. Droplets of rain scrape George’s cheeks, and they almost hurt, but the pain is numbed when Dream wraps his fingers around George’s wrist tightly that he’s sure it’s going to leave bruises. 

“I’m yours,” George whispers against Dream’s lips, eyes lidded and even through the pouring rain, the former can see Dream’s god awful smirk as the latter pulls him back in. 

Dream and George are never meant to be for each other, but in the rain, where fury burns like the brightest fires and lips slotted together as they battled stubbornly, even the heaviest storms can’t put out their flame of love.

Loving him was the most dangerous form of destruction, but George lets the fire consume him fully, lets Dream dominate him and burn him over and over again, lets the smoke of their remains clog his lungs in the form of deep kisses.

So what if he falls? 

He fucking loves it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter: @ISLE0FDREAM 
> 
> yell at me there or sumn


End file.
